


Off Course

by DiamondBlue4, InhoePublishing



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Injury, M/M, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondBlue4/pseuds/DiamondBlue4, https://archiveofourown.org/users/InhoePublishing/pseuds/InhoePublishing
Summary: A continuation of Evenstar656 story "Gravitation". Jim isn't as well as he seems and McCoy's goes into over-protective drive.“I want you to leave," Jim said.“Fine,” McCoy agreed, his face stoic. He looked at Chapel. “Make sure he remains still and let me know when the scan is complete.”McCoy left, and Jim closed his eyes, pushing his jumbled emotions deep and remembering the promise he’d made not more than 24-hours ago.“We’ll be fine, Bones.”McCoy squeezed Jim’s hand, “I’m sure we will, kid.”Well… maybe not so fine. In fact, far from fine.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 18
Kudos: 106





	Off Course

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Evenstar656](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evenstar656/gifts).



A continuation of Evenstar656 story "[Gravitation"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24590515). This story is published with her consent.

We were happy to keep the story going. Thanks Evenstar656!

* * *

_“We’ll be fine, Bones.”_

_McCoy squeezed Jim’s hand. “I’m sure we will, kid.”_

_A grumbling from Jim’s stomach ruined the peaceful silence of the room. McCoy rolled his eyes because he knew what was coming next._

_“Hey, Bones…”_

_McCoy was already pushing himself off the biobed. “Let me go find real clothes first.”_

_“You know I like the red kind,” Jim called out to McCoy’s back as he headed left for the doorway._

_“You better be in your own bed when I get back,” echoed down the short hallway._

The deck was cold beneath McCoy’s bare feet as he walked the short distance from his small private room to the main bay. It felt good to be out of bed. Movement helped to work the stiffness caused by hours of terror and worry out of his muscles. Chapel was standing at the circulation desk, as he entered. She cast an appraising look over him and her eyes grew bright with amusement, a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“What are you grinning at?” he growled as he passed the desk. And before she could answer, ordered, “Make sure that idiot gets back in his own bed. He should be resting. I’ll be back in a little while. Damn fool wants Jello.”

“Yes, boss.”

He was out the door and moving down the corridor, ignoring the curious glances from the few crew members he passed. Maybe it was just that he’d slept too long, or that he’d come too close to death, or that he was still pissed at Jim – _the self-sacrificing moron_ – for not telling him about the shared oxygen system, but he wanted to punch something. Hard. Normally, when he was wound up, he’d hit the gym, press some weights or go for a long swim, but right now that sounded like a piss-poor way to assuage his feelings. He wasn’t sure he was ready to let go of his anger.

Christ, they’d come too damn close this time. This hadn’t been a Starfleet mission gone awry, with angry spear-wielding hostile aliens to blame for Jim’s injuries. No, the fault was all his. Oh, not the freak accident that had disabled the shuttle. But the fact that they were on the shuttle at all was due to his own damn selfishness. They wouldn’t have been out there in the black in a fucking tin can if he hadn’t asked Jim for some time away from the ship for the two of them to enjoy.

It was difficult to get Jim to himself during a normal day. And even when he did manage to carve out some private time for them from their busy schedules, it was hard for Jim to change mindsets, to relinquish being captain for even an hour, while they shared dinner or a drink. So he had decided – insisted – they take an entire week of leave away from the _Enterprise_ where they could just be Jim and Bones, and relax into their new relationship, with no emergencies or demands, as they had for those few days in Georgia.

He entered his quarters, the lights automatically turning on. He didn’t have a yeoman like Jim, but he knew that everything was exactly as he’d left it – orderly and largely devoid of personal items. He’d brought little from Earth with him when he’d become CMO, just a handmade quilt from his grandmother, which had been a parting gift. He’d chosen to leave everything else behind, not wanting to risk losing the things he valued, his personal treasures, to the uncaring void of space. His damn phobias were probably to blame for the decision, but he couldn’t seem to shake the belief that he needed to leave it all behind to act as an anchor, something to draw him back to the safe embrace of the Earth.

Without pausing, he made a straight line to the bathroom. Within moments he’d shed his Starfleet issue sickbay pajamas and stepped into the shower, eager to wash away the memory of sweat and vomit. The quartermaster controlled the usage of real water on the ship. Sickbay got a generous share and so did ranking officers. But not nearly enough for his personal preferences. Most of his showers were sonic ones out of necessity. It wasn’t until he and Jim started occasionally sharing quarters that Jim had learned how much he hated sonics and missed the feel of a real shower.

_“It’s bad enough we’re flying around in this tin can waiting for a hull breach to suck us into space, eating replicated food and breathing recycled air for months on end, but now I have to clean myself with sonic blasts and pretend that’s a shower.”_

_“Isn’t that how you sterilize for surgery?” Jim challenged._

_“Jim –”_

_“Look, Bones, there’s only so much water on the ship even with recycling and filtration. We all have to conserve water resources.” Jim smiled. “I could join you.”_

Cheeky bastard.

He hit the control panel on the shower wall and switched from sonic to water, letting the steamy downpour wash over him. Fuck conservation. He’d almost died in the cold, nothingness of space. He wanted to feel something real on his skin.

He stood unmoving under the torrent, letting the steamy drops pelt his skin until his muscles unclenched, his skin warm and tingling. Head bent, he tried to clear his thoughts of the image of the two of them tied together, the vacuum suit preventing him from feeling Jim’s touch, floating in space – dead. The warning alarm broke his reverie, and with a sigh, he reached for the washing solution, knowing that – officer or not – the water would stop when he hit his limit, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to scrub his skin the old-fashioned way.

Minutes later, after shaving and changing into a clean uniform, he felt restored enough to return to duty. He was headed to the mess hall for Jim’s favorite gelatin flavor when his comm sounded.

“Sickbay to Dr. McCoy.” Chapel’s voice, cool and professional, came over the comm.

He scowled, feeling his gut go cold. He’d just left, for Christ’s sake. “McCoy, here. Everything all right, Chris?”

“It’s the captain. He collapsed on his way to his bed. BP tanked. We’ve got his IV line running wide open. He’s stable for the moment but you should get here ASAP.”

“Jesus. Why are you just notifying me now?” He looked at the chronometer. It had been thirty minutes since he’d left Sickbay.

“We weren’t sure what the issue w—”

“I’m on my way. I want a full report when I get there.”

He cut the comm and spun on his heel, sprinting down the corridor towards Sickbay, his mind racing. A sudden drop in blood-pressure was always a concern, but not necessarily unusual under the circumstances. Jim was still recovering from surgery and a penetrating trauma to a major organ, so it could just be the result of being out of bed too soon, taxing his system.

Or it could be a sign of a more serious issue.

Damn it. He wished he’d reviewed M’Benga’s surgical notes more thoroughly. Jim’s right kidney had been lacerated by a piece of shrapnel and he’d suffered significant blood loss, but M’Benga had repaired the damage and Jim appeared to be responding well to the drug protocol. Well enough to allow Jim out of bed.

The kid had been sitting up in a chair reading a novel for Christ’s sake. He’d looked fine. Pale and tired, but fine.

McCoy sailed into Sickbay and immediately zeroed in on the medical staff crowded around the biobed near the center of the circulation desk. M’Benga had his back to Jim and was studying a display on the overhead monitor while Chapel stood next to Jim hanging a bag of fresh blood.

Chapel caught sight of him and turned to M’Benga. “Boss is here.”

“What happened?” McCoy demanded as he came up to the side of the bed and looked down at Jim. White-faced, but conscious, Jim lay curled on his left side, a blanket covering his hips and legs. An oxygen cannula was tucked under his nose, the twin lines looping around his ears to hold it in place. His respirations were increased, his breaths shallow. They’d removed his shirt and McCoy could see that a second IV line had been inserted beneath the curve of his collarbone. The fact that M’Benga had felt a central line was necessary was concerning, as was the oxygen assistance.

Jim’s apprehensive blue eyes stared up at him. “I followed your orders, Bones. I’m in my own bed.”

McCoy could see by the way he held himself that Jim was in pain. Still, his mouth tightened at being reminded of his parting instructions to Jim. “For all the good it did. I can’t leave you on your own for five minutes, kid, without you getting into trouble.”

M’Benga turned away from the display, his expression grim. “The scan shows a small piece of shrapnel in his kidney. It’s small, and it’s not metal, which is why I didn’t see it on the first scan. Probably a shard of polymer or glass. Something razor-sharp.” M’Benga sighed, looking sick. “I’m not making excuses, Len. Bottom line? I missed it. It must have shifted when the captain became mobile and the shrapnel has lacerated a posterior segmental artery. He’s hemorrhaging.”

McCoy looked up at the detailed scan displayed on the monitor behind M’Benga. He could see the laceration and the corresponding hemorrhage, which was allowing the leaking blood to pool in an area just below the renal hilum.

“Foreign bodies, like shrapnel, like to hide,” he murmured, his attention on the screen as he studied the enhanced view. They were going to have to go in and fish that fucker out before it did any more damage, and then repair the laceration to the artery. And it wasn’t going to be easy with all that blood flooding, and obscuring, the site.

“He probably started bleeding a short time ago from the look of it,” M’Benga said.

McCoy nodded his concurrence. The shrapnel likely shifted when Jim moved from the chair to the biobed to sit next to him. The resulting twinge of pain was something Jim wouldn’t have likely thought to be anything out of the ordinary. Given his high pain tolerance and the fact that he was only recently out of surgery, he’d probably chalked it up to normal post-operative pain.

But it wasn’t, and now they needed to go back in and repair the new damage.

“I thought he was well enough to be ambulatory,” M’Benga added, guilt and remorse thickening his voice.

“I was,” Jim said weakly. “I felt fine.”

McCoy glared down at him, noting the deepening pallor. “Nobody asked you.”

“You’re pretty grouchy for someone … who just slept eighteen hours.” Jim’s words were slightly slurred, like his tongue was heavy and he was having difficulty controlling his breath. “Maybe your blood sugar’s low, Bones.”

A sudden shiver swept through him and he winced, clutching the sheet.

“Enough out of you.” McCoy laid a gentle hand on Jim’s arm and glanced up at the bio-monitor. There were too many goddamned yellow and orange alerts. Jim’s cardiovascular system was trying, and failing, to compensate for the hemorrhaging, so the alerts for increased heartrate and respirations, and decreasing O2 saturation and blood pressure, were hardly surprising given what was going on.

“We have to go back in, Jim, and remove the shrapnel, repair the damage to your artery. I can’t give you anything for the pain right now, but you’ll be out in just a few minutes when we administer the general anesthetic.”

“S’okay, Bones. It’s not bad.”

He squeezed Jim’s arm before turning to Chapel. “Prep him for surgery. I’d like to use OR 1 if it’s ready since it has the high definition monitors.”

She nodded. “Sure thing. You want additional packed red cells, too?”

“Yeah. Have six units prepared and on standby.”

“Yes, boss.”

As Chapel moved to comply with his orders, he walked around to the other side of the bed to examine the surgical area, posteriorly, berating himself for not taking the time to examine Jim before he’d left Sickbay. He should have known better than to trust Jim’s _I’m okay_ body language.

A long pink line marred the pale flesh just below Jim’s ribs on his right flank. M’Benga always used curved incisions in emergencies, claiming they gave him more room to work. He was a good surgeon or he wouldn’t be aboard the _Enterprise_ , but McCoy thought he tended to operate with an eye to his own comfort rather than thinking about the length or appearance of the incision the patient would have to deal with post-operatively. The dermal regenerators would prevent any permanent scarring but, in the interim, Jim’s body would have to work a little harder to heal the larger incision. McCoy had to suppress a little flare of annoyed resentment at the realization.

He carefully pressed the skin over the healing wound, feeling for heat or swelling. Jim’s skin felt cool and clammy; not a good sign.

Jim grunted, arching away from his touch.

“Okay,” McCoy soothed, and put a steadying hand on Jim’s hip. “We need to get this show on the road.” He turned to M’Benga. The man looked downcast, an unnatural demeanor for the usually confident and capable surgeon. “Let’s go, Geoff. Time to scrub in.”

M’Benga’s eyes widened and he looked as if he was about to say something, but his gaze dropped suddenly to the patient on the bed, and he nodded curtly instead, leaving without speaking.

McCoy sighed and turned his attention back to Jim just as Hayes returned with a thermometer and PADD. Jim was still looking at him, cheek pressed to the soft cushion of the pillow, his blue eyes hazy with pain. He scraped up a supportive smile and grasped Jim’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Bones?” Jim voice was strained.

McCoy bent low, speaking close to Jim’s ear. “Right here, Jim.”

“You doing it or M’Benga?”

“What would make you feel better?” he asked, deliberately repeating Jim’s response to his panicked question when they had been floating helplessly in space: ‘Did you feel it hit you?’

“Now who’s the asshole.”

“Just my way of reminding you of the obvious answer, you idiot. _Of course._ Of course, you felt the shrapnel pierce your back. And, although M’Benga will be assisting me, of course, I’m doing your surgery.”

“Thanks, Bones.”

He could feel Jim’s fingers twitching in his grip, and the physician side of his brain murmured ‘pain’ and ‘deepening shock syndrome’. “Relax, kid, I’ve got you. This is gonna be a simple in-and-out procedure. Any first year surgical resident could do it. But I’ll give you the VIP treatment, I promise. You’ll be back in bed in an hour.”

“My bed or a biobed?”

“Don’t push it, Jim.”

Jim grunted and, without taking his gaze from McCoy, asked, “Does it have to be surgery?”

Inwardly, McCoy cringed. He didn’t blame Jim for not wanting to go back to the OR, especially when he was a day away from being released from Sickbay. If given the choice, Jim would never choose a surgical procedure. This setback would delay his recovery, and he knew it. “Yeah, Jim. You’re bleeding internally, and we have to remove the piece of shrapnel before it does any more damage. They call them foreign bodies for a reason, kid. They’re not natural and they’re not supposed to be in there.”

Jim closed his eyes in resigned acceptance. He’d grown paler since McCoy’s arrival. Hayes had finished the pre-op checklist and another nurse had entered the space to assist with moving Jim to the OR. A warning chime sounded, drawing his attention to the monitor.

“We gotta go now,” he told Jim, stepping back. “You’re losing too much blood.”

“Bones.…” Jim continued to intently search McCoy’s face. His hand twitched, reaching out instinctively.

The look on Jim’s face stopped him cold. He could read the unspoken plea in the cerulean eyes. Jim wasn’t one to make bold statements about his feelings or long declarations of love. Hell, if he could get a full sentence out of the kid on the subject he’d call himself lucky. They’d fallen into this relationship in a moment of crisis when neither of them had been at their best, and both had been more than a little out of sorts. But that first kiss had said more than any words could. He remembered the feel of Jim’s mouth on his, how sure and confident the kid had been.

_“Jim? Are you sure? This better not be some hair-brained scheme to get me back in that death bucket.”_

And it hadn’t been. For all Jim’s past tomcatting, and fear of commitment issues, he’d remained dedicated to their relationship. Now maybe, he was feeling for the first time some of what McCoy had feared from the beginning, that he, Bones, would be left alone, grieving, and knowing that it had all been too good and too short. But McCoy wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” He reclaimed his space next to the bed and squeezed Jim’s hand. “You’ll be all right. I promise.”

McCoy nodded to the nurses and stepped away from the bed to scrub in.

* * *

Jim opened his eyes to a dimly lit room. Despite the shadows obscuring much of the area beyond the bed where he lay, he recognized the layout of one of the rare private rooms in Sickbay. The biomonitor above his head cast an eerie glow across the pale blanket that covered him. The constant motion of the vitals display sent thin ripples of green and yellow light across its woven white surface, like the reflections of sunlight from moving water.

His eyes drifted closed. A pleasant numbness had settled in his body and he recognized the heavy, lethargy that meant powerful painkillers were circulating in his blood. Fuck. Bones had him on the good stuff. He tried to think but couldn’t decide if that was good or bed. He felt slightly worse than the last time he’d woken up in Sickbay. But at that awakening, he had been more concerned about Bones than himself, his last conscious thought having been of the two of them tied together, floating in the black of space and his promise to Bones that everything was going to be fine.

The sound of the door hissing open drew his attention. He opened his eyes and turned his head in time to see Chapel enter from the hall. Her short blond hair appeared platinum in the dim light. She stepped to the head of the bed and looked down at him.

“You’re supposed to be asleep, Captain. Can I get you anything?”

“Water.”

She nodded, picking up the waiting glass and offering him the end of a straw. “Just a little, for now.”

After a few swallows, she pulled the straw away. She looked up at the monitor for a long minute and frowned. “Try to go back to sleep. Boss won’t be happy you’re awake.”

“Where is he?” A faint throbbing began in his right side, deep in his torso just under his ribs.

“In the main bay, setting the broken leg of an absentminded Ensign.”

“Who?”

Chapel was checking his IV lines. “Stiles.”

Engineering, of course. Bones never set foot in the department if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. He called it a death trap, and thought engineers were crazy for the most part. Since forty percent of Sickbay injuries came from there, he wasn’t far wrong.

Chapel laid a hand on his arm. “Go back to sleep. I don’t want to be the one to tell the boss you’re awake.”

Her use of the term ‘boss’ as it applied to McCoy always amused him. He wondered if this was her way of demonstrating that here – in Medical – he wasn’t in charge.

She left him alone, but he didn’t sleep, despite the drugs circulating through him. He’d never been able to relax in a medical setting – maybe because he _wasn’t_ the recognized authority in Sickbay and lack of control always made him itchy – and he suspected Bones had put him in the private room in an effort to help him rest. Admittedly, it was better than being in the noisy commotion of the main bay where he always felt like he was on display. How did anyone sleep knowing they were being watched by every eye in the room?

But while the room offered privacy, it was still Sickbay. He was being constantly monitored and observed. Even now, he was serenaded by the hums and beeps of the biomonitor, and the other medical equipment, and cocooned in a cushioned biobed. So much so, he couldn’t feel the reassuring thrum of his ship beneath its surface. And because of its location, there were no windows in Sickbay, so Jim didn’t even have the comfort of watching the stars.

Then there was the distinctively medicinal odor that permeated the space and attached itself to everything. The first thing he always did after being discharged from Sickbay back to his quarters was to hit the shower and scrub away the lingering smell of illness and disability.

Minutes ticked by and his restlessness grew, along with the pain in his side. He’d never liked sleeping on his back. For the entire week of their shore leave, he and Bones had shared a bed, and he hated to admit how much he missed the feel of the other man pressed against him, the soft, reassuring sounds of his breathing. Compared to that, the biobeds were lonely slabs of isolation…

He shivered. It was fucking cold in here, too. Why did they keep the ambient temperature set so low?

He shifted, intending to roll onto his side, hoping the new position would ease the growing pain under his ribs, but the movement ignited a burst of agony that spread from his belly into his back, like the hot thrust of a knife. Fuck! Gritting his teeth, he breathed through the radiating pain, trying desperately to relax his muscles as he waited for the firestorm to subside. A sudden wave of nausea swept through him.

“Lights 30%. What’d you do, Jim? Did you try to get up?” McCoy demanded as he entered the room, scowling. His scowl deepened as he caught sight of the flashing monitor.

“No,” he said breathlessly, blinking against the brighter lights, trying to slow the frantic pace of his heart. “I didn’t do anything.”

McCoy glared at him as he stopped at the head of the bed. “Your vitals tell me otherwise.”

Chapel entered, and McCoy turned his head. “I got it.”

She gave Jim a reproachful look. Right, boss wasn’t happy, ain’t no one happy. And left.

“I was just trying to turn on my side, that’s all.”

“You need to stay flat and still,” McCoy said, making it a command.

“Now you tell me.” The throbbing in his back eased slightly and he shivered again. “It’s cold in here.”

“Your body temperature and blood-pressure are still low. You were losing a lot of blood, so we had to keep you pretty cold while we were doing the repair.” He grimaced. “You were in surgery longer than anticipated. That god-damned piece of shrapnel was elusive.” McCoy adjusted something on the overhead panel. “I’ve turned up the temperature on the bed. You should feel warmer, in a minute.”

Despite being fresh out of surgery, Bones looked well-rested. Dressed in his standard blue uniform, he looked confident and in control, far from the terrified man who had floated next to him in space two days ago.

Jim caught the clean scent of Bones’ favorite soap, as he moved the covers aside and checked Jim’s surgical dressings. “No new bleeding,” he announced, looking relieved. Jim shivered, the cold air in the room raising goosebumps on his exposed flesh.

“Cover me up, Bones. I’m cold.”

“I’ll get you a warm blanket.”

Retrieving a blanket from the warming cabinet, McCoy wasted no time spreading it over him. Jim relaxed as the welcome heat penetrated his skin.

“I know something else that can warm me up,” he said, teasingly, and snaked a hand from beneath the covers to lightly grasp McCoy’s arm.

McCoy looked down at him, his expression half affectionate, half exasperated. “I admire your enthusiasm, kid, but your body isn’t up to that type of activity, right now. Give it a day or two.”

“That a challenge, Bones?” His hand trembled as he clutched the soft material of Bones’ uniform. He wanted to pull Bones closer but weakness, and a growing fatigue, stymied him.

McCoy removed his hand and gently tucked it beneath the blanket. “You need to sleep, Jim. And remain still. That piece of shrapnel was a bitch to find. Scotty thinks it was part of the control panel nav screen because it was transparent. I had to open you up more than I liked in order to get a good visual field. I didn’t want to go blinding fishing around for it, not as sharp as it was. It had already done enough damage. Unfortunately, because of that, you’re going to be sore as hell for a while.”

“It’s not too bad.”

An eyebrow lifted. “I’ve got you on therapeutic levels of Toraphine, but I’m going to have to start cutting the dosage soon. This is the last class of narcotics you aren’t allergic to and I can’t keep you on them for long. I’m sorry, kid, but I can’t risk having you develop a tolerance to them.”

He closed his eyes, as a sudden wave of exhaustion swept through him. Jim had hoped for a conversation with Bones – his friend and partner – but he realized that he was getting Doctor McCoy, CMO of the _Enterprise_ , instead. The _‘we have to be careful with your drug exposure’_ was an old and familiar argument, one they hadn’t had in a while, mostly because Jim had managed to keep himself from being seriously injured.

But he’d had a streak of bad luck over the past few months. Incidents beyond his control had repeatedly landed him in Sickbay and, of course, Bones was always hyper-vigilant when he was seriously injured. Jim’s drug-sensitive, allergy-prone system constantly gave McCoy fits.

Still, he’d hoped for something more than a medical lecture. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Bones. You’re the doctor,” he sighed, feeling despondent.

“Not ‘yeah, yeah,’ Jim,” McCoy said sharply. “We need to maintain the effectiveness of the drugs you _can_ take for as long as possible. The more often I have to use them, the less effective they’re going to be over time. Higher doses are more toxic to your liver, too. At some point in the future, it could make treating serious injuries a problem, which wouldn’t be a huge concern if you’d keep your ass out of my Sickbay for longer than thirty days.”

He knew that tone and opened his eyes to find Bones tight-lipped and scowling, glaring down at him. They’d just come off a week of bliss where neither of them had any obligations and responsibilities, where Jim wasn’t captain and Bones wasn’t CMO, and the biggest decision they’d had to make was whether to go out for dinner or eat in. They’d been, for all intents and purposes, a normal couple enjoying some vacation time together.

He boggled at how quickly they’d lost that footing.

The bed was warming up, but he still shivered, his insides feeling cold. His back throbbed dully, and he desperately wanted to curl onto his side, yearning for comfort, even if it was just hugging a pillow. And if that got him away from Bones’ relentless scrutiny, it was a bonus.

“Are you listening to me?”

“I’m listening. Stop taking drugs. Got it. Now go away.”

McCoy stared at him with a frustrated, hard-bitten expression. “Stop acting like a goddamned child.”

“Stop acting like a mother-hen.”

“Somebody has to rein you in,” McCoy bit back. “Clearly, you’ve got no sense of self-preservation.”

Bones’ words were like a sucker punch to the jaw. Instantly, his muscles tensed, ready for a fight, and his fingers curled into fists beneath the blanket. If he had been anywhere else but in Sickbay under McCoy’s care, he would have ordered the doctor off the bridge or out of his ready room, in order to give them some space and let McCoy know that he was the captain and it wasn’t up to the doctor to fucking _rein him in_.

But he couldn’t even take a piss on his own, so he said the only thing he could to get Bones out of his room before he said something they’d both regret. “I’m tired, Bones. I think you should go, so I can rest.”

Still scowling, McCoy’s mouth tightened. If the man thought he’d crossed a line, he didn’t show it. “Get some sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

Jim stewed for long minutes after McCoy left.

It was the old tug-of-war of their relationship, neither wanting to give ground. It had always been there, even in the Academy; a time when, unlike McCoy, Jim had had no real authority or position, relying instead on stubbornness and will-power to maintain his autonomy. And it had only gotten worse when Jim was promoted to captain and Bones tried his level best to keep Jim from taking any risks at all.

Bones had drawn a line in the sand, when they became intimate. A warning, even though they were fucking, all barriers swept aside.

_…a little piece of me breaks every time I have to put you back together._

Bones had come back, but he’d remained adamant that Jim’s health and safety were his first priority. How was Jim supposed to do his job without taking risks? And if he did, would that always mean he was risking having Bones leave him again?

Jim closed his eyes, Bones’ confession echoing in his thoughts like a death knell to their future happiness.

_I can’t watch you try your damn hardest to die on me._

And that was the problem in a nutshell.

That glass was always going to be fucking half-empty. Bones was never going to see it as Jim trying his level best to _live_. To ensure that Bones, the most important person in his life, was kept alive and safe, along with the rest of his crew.

And he couldn’t do that wrapped in a protective bubble, however well-meaning.

He was fucked.

The throbbing in his back gradually eased enough for him to ignore it. Finally succumbing to his body’s fatigue, he slept.

Only to be awoken by Hayes changing an IV bag.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you, Captain.”

The room was brighter. The shadows had faded. Externally, at least.

“What time is it?”

She glanced at the overhead monitor. “Oh-eight-thirteen. How are you feeling?”

His side throbbed and he realized that Bones must have reduced his pain meds as he’d warned. Every time he took a breath, he could feel a sharp pull along his ribs, as if the muscles were still under the assault of Bones’ scalpel and searching fingers. “Sore.”

Hayes nodded. “Dr. McCoy changed your pain meds, so that’s not surprising. Since you’re awake, would you like some water? I can help you get cleaned up a bit, too.”

He nodded. Maybe moving a little would ease the cramping ache in the small of his back.

Hayes inclined the bed and handed him a cup of water. He gulped it down thirstily, despite her admonitions to take it slowly. He handed her the empty cup, trading it for the hot, wet cloth she held out to him.

“Washing your face will make you feel better.”

A layer of sweat covered him and his hair stuck to his scalp. The cloth wasn’t going to cut it. “How about a shower?”

She tipped her head with an amused smile. “Breakfast first, then we’ll get you on your feet. No shower.”

He sighed. Bones apparently had had the good sense to stay away and let his minions do his dirty work. Or maybe he had needed some private time, too. Bones always needed a couple of hours to simmer when he got pissed. And the fact that Bones was taking charge of the drug tolerance issue wasn’t a good sign that the man had moved on from their near-death space accident. Jim wanted out of Sickbay, but based on the ache in his side, that was going to be a hard sell if Bones was in an agreeable mood, and damn near impossible if the man was still pissed.

Hayes returned with his breakfast just as he finished wiping down his face and neck. His stomach flipped at the sight of the food. “I’m not hungry.” He stared at the plate. “No coffee?”

“Do your best, sir. This is all you’re allowed at present,” Hayes said, sympathetically, and left.

Meaning McCoy had left written orders regarding his nutritional needs. He had probably chosen the damn menu, too. Eggs and toast. Not his normal breakfast fare, and Bones knew it. Controlling bastard.

He ate alone, managing to force half the food down before quitting, exhausted and hurting. Thirty minutes later, while having his gown changed, his growing nausea culminated in his stomach convulsing, and Hayes barely got the emesis pan under his chin before he lost his breakfast all over them both. He took little pleasure in glaring an ‘I told you so’ at her.

His stomach had just settled when Phil, an overly cheerful medic specializing in PT, came to get him on his feet. The walk was short and painful with him leaning heavily on Phil, who for a man eight centimeters shorter than Jim was as strong as an ox.

“Take it slowly, Captain. Give yourself a chance to adjust. There’s no rush.” Phil had a supportive arm around his uninjured side as he took a few halting steps.

He moved as if he were walking on broken glass, each step careful and tenuous. The IV pole he rolled next to him served as a cane. Christ, he hadn’t hurt this much after the first surgery. What the hell had Bones done to him? He gripped the pole tightly to steady himself, fighting the pain in his side.

“Dizzy?”

He shook his head and carefully straightened as much as he could, raising his head to see McCoy standing in the doorway, arms crossed and watching his progress with a closed expression. He shouldn’t have been surprised at the doctor’s sudden appearance. It wasn’t as if getting him out of bed was Phil’s idea. Ambulation and activity level, like food and meds, required a doctor’s order. Nothing happened in Sickbay without McCoy’s knowledge, and damn sure nothing happened to Jim without his authorization.

_“Somebody has to rein you in.”_

Jim looked away, his jaw tight. He was still pissed but he didn’t have the energy, at the moment, to engage with McCoy. He took a few more determined steps, but he couldn’t quite straighten completely, the pain in his side keeping him slightly bent.

“Not bad, Captain,” Phil said as they returned to the newly-made bed. He kept a strong hand on Jim as he eased him down onto the mattress, then moved the IV pole back into place at the head of the bed. “I’ll be back in a few hours and we’ll do it again.”

Jim nodded. He was too out of breath to respond. He melted into the pillows, his fingers clumsily pulling on the bed clothes to settle them under his chin, feeling the pull and pinch of every muscle and nerve in his upper back radiating right around his side to his lower torso. He knew he was flushed and sweaty as he as he unclenched his muscles, trying to look as if nothing was wrong.

Phil murmured something to McCoy in a low voice who nodded. Phil left without looking back and McCoy stepped inside the room, reaching for the chart at the end of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

McCoy glanced up quickly and held his gaze for a long moment before returning his attention back to the chart. “How’s the pain?”

“Fine.”

“I see your breakfast didn’t stay down. Are you still nauseous?”

“I’m fine.”

McCoy’s head snapped up, eyes hot. “Damn it, Jim, that isn’t an answer to my question. Are you still nauseated or not?”

“Yes. Satisfied?”

McCoy focused on the chart and made a note. “We’ll try something blander next time. The antibiotics you’re getting are strong and likely causing your gastrointestinal symptoms.” McCoy set the chart on a nearby table before approaching the bed.

“When do I get out of here?”

McCoy drew up short at the question but recovered quickly. “You’re still on IV antibiotics for the next twenty-four hours. We’ll see after that.”

“I can finish them in my quarters. There’s no need for me to take up a vital Sickbay room.”

“If you can’t walk to your quarters, you can’t leave Sickbay,” McCoy said sternly. “Look, Jim, I don’t want to argue with you. You just had major surgery and you suffered significant blood loss. Your lab values still aren’t normal, and your urine output is diminished. It may not seem like it to you, but this was a serious surgery and you’re at risk for even more serious complications.”

Jim opened his mouth.

“You’re not leaving Sickbay when you can barely stand!”

So… McCoy was pissed too, and his tone said he was done arguing.

Jim clamped his mouth shut. It irked him that he couldn’t go to M’Benga for release, but as CMO, Bones held all the cards. Under Starfleet regs, Bones could keep him until the doctor was good and ready to let him go.

“I need to examine you.” McCoy raised the bed and drew the blanket down past Jim’s hips. “Can you roll onto your side?”

“Get M’Benga to do it,” he said, not making any attempt to comply.

McCoy’s mouth tightened. “M’Benga’s busy and I’m here. Now roll over.”

It wasn’t the wisest decision to piss off the man who was about to put his hands on your body but Jim had had enough. “I mean it, Bones. I want someone else.”

“This isn’t private practice, Jim. You don’t get to choose your treating physician because you’re in a pissy mood, and want to throw your weight around. So stop acting like a goddamned brat and let me do the exam.”

Chapel entered and immediately came to a halt just inside the doorway, upon hearing McCoy’s raised voice. Her eyes darting from Jim to McCoy, she asked, “Should I come back?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They answered in unison then glared at each other, ignoring Chapel.

“Stay, Chris,” McCoy said, his hot glare a challenge.

Jim saw the muscles in his jaw harden as he waited for Jim to give in and roll on his side. That was the thing about Bones, he was stubborn as a mule. Unless an emergency came into Sickbay, the man would remain in place until Jim complied. Hell would freeze over before Bones gave up.

“I’ve got all day, Jim. The ball is in your court.”

With a low growl, Jim rolled onto his side, glad that he was now facing away from the doctor. Despite their disagreement, Bones’ hands were warm and gentle as he probed the incision. Jim flinched as even the gentlest touch caused the nerves to ignite.

“Sorry,” McCoy said softly.

He heard Chapel approach McCoy’s side, her steps hesitant.

“It’s healing nicely,” McCoy said. “Inflammation is down.”

“Do you want to start the regen now?” Chapel asked.

McCoy removed his hands but didn’t replace the sheet and blanket, keeping the surgical site uncovered. “No. I want a couple of hours of HEC and a new scan. If that goes well, we can start the regen.”

Jim started to roll onto his back, but McCoy’s hand on his hip stopped him. “Stay put, Jim. We’re going to do a treatment to boost the cell reproduction in your kidney. It’ll help the traumatized area heal faster.”

“How long is that going to take?”

McCoy sighed. “A few hours.”

He heard the sounds of equipment being moved about and craned his head to see what was going on. McCoy stood directly behind him, his brows knitted in concern, as Chapel positioned a piece of equipment over his injured kidney.

“We’re doing this now?”

“No time like the present,” McCoy said, and gave Chapel detailed orders regarding the settings he wanted used during the therapy.

Jim turned his head into his pillow, feeling trapped in the bed.

“You have to hold still during this treatment,” McCoy warned. “The equipment is sensitive, and the pulses can’t be disrupted, or they won’t be effective.”

He grunted. The new position wasn’t making his side feel any better. But, at least, he wasn’t having to directly look at anyone.

McCoy sighed again and removed his hand from Jim’s hip. He moved around to the front, where Jim could see him, without twisting his head. “Are you comfortable? When we turn the HEC on, you can’t move or change positions.”

“Of course, I’m not comfortable. A piece of the fucking shuttle was left inside me, you dug around in my guts, my back feels like a Klingon stepped on it, and I’m pissed as hell at you.”

Bones stared down at him, seemingly impervious to his outburst. “I removed the shrapnel,” McCoy said, as if that negated everything else he’d had to endure.

“I want you to leave.”

“Fine,” he agreed, his face stoic. He looked at Chapel. “Make sure he remains still and let me know when the scan is complete.”

McCoy left, and Jim closed his eyes, pushing his jumbled emotions deep and remembering the promise he’d made not more than 24-hours ago.

_“We’ll be fine, Bones.”_

_McCoy squeezed Jim’s hand, “I’m sure we will, kid.”_

Well… maybe not so fine. In fact, far from fine.

Some prophet he was.

* * *

Jim stood in front of the large display window in his quarters, watching the bright streaks of stars speed past. Warp speed distorted their normally pristine, static image, the warp wave bending the shape of space around the ship into a repeating cascade of ‘bubbles’ as they traveled, causing the starlight to look as if it were being viewed through blown glass.

The velocity both comforted and intrigued him. As a kid, he’d escape the farm house late at night and crawl onto the barn roof, high above the corn fields just to watch the stars. Looking up at the vastness of space, he could imagine himself far away from Iowa. The stars had always meant freedom to him, a way out of a life he’d come to hate. Tonight though, they just seemed remote rather than friendly, emphasizing his sense of isolation and loneliness.

The door chime sounded, and he sighed. It was about that time. Without looking away from the window, he said, “Come.”

He’d been expecting his yeoman bearing an unwanted meal tray. McCoy had confined him to quarters after releasing him from Sickbay yesterday and he hadn’t seen the man since, which was some kind of record. Chapel, or one of the other nurses, came by a couple of times a shift to take vitals, ask a dozen questions and record his responses onto a chart before efficiently and professionally concluding the visit without the usual pleasantries.

Bones had his staff well trained.

“Leave it on the table, Yeoman. I’ll have it later,” he said, bracing one hand against the window. He leaned heavily against the transparent aluminum to take the pressure off his back. He’d been standing too long and the ache was sliding toward pain, a throbbing tightness that had begun to hurt.

He knew he should sit down, but he didn’t want to give up the view. If the ship hadn’t been at warp speed, he’d be able to see the stars the way they were meant to be seen, as timeless and fascinating motes of light bedazzling the fabric of the heavens. He’d be able to hear their enticing call, the one that had beckoned him into the black, as they danced their ancient dance. 

Just like he had all those years ago as a young boy in Iowa.

“If only that were true.”

The familiar voice startled him and Jim turned to see McCoy standing in the living area. He was dressed all in black – a black as deep as the space between the stars.

Jim stared. He never saw Bones in casual dress aboard the ship. The doctor was always in uniform – daily blues, medical whites, or scrubs for surgery. Never just the blacks the crew tended to wear during their downtime.

Even on shore leave, Bones didn’t seem to want to get out of his uniform. As if its familiar shape and color represented safety of some kind.

McCoy nodded towards the window. “Things can’t be all that bad.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked curiously, testing the doctor’s mood and trying to find a safe way to start a conversation that wasn’t going to lead to an argument. He knew Bones preferred solid walls to a view of the stars.

“You only stand at the window when you miss Iowa.”

“I never miss Iowa.”

McCoy gave him a skeptic look, before inspecting him in a clinical manner. Apparently satisfied with his findings, he shifted his gaze to the window. “I will never understand what you find so damn interesting about watching a bunch of stars race past. Makes me nauseous.”

“That’s because you hate space.”

Jim leaned back against the window, feeling the pain deepen. He didn’t want to sit down in case Bones saw that as some kind of capitulation. His quarters, although spacious compared to crew cabins, didn’t offer a lot of room. He wanted to keep as much space as possible between them while he determined whether this was just another move to rein him in or a peace offering. 

“Why are you here, Bones? Did I get a bad medical report from Chapel?”

A muscle twitched on McCoy’s right cheek. “Thought you might like some company.”

So, it was a peace offering.

He studied McCoy for a long moment before nodding once and turning to face the window. The pain in his back forced him to shift his weight again, and he leaned heavily on his left side, letting that leg bear most of his body weight.

He heard McCoy walk across the room to join him, stopping just behind him. With a sigh that ruffled the hair on his nape, McCoy’s hands settled gently around his waist, taking care not to put any pressure on his incision site.

“You still pissed?” McCoy asked quietly.

Jim shrugged lightly. “I’m not happy, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Figured that.” McCoy eased his chin onto Jim’s left shoulder, his cheek brushing Jim’s neck. “I got a job to do, Jim.”

The faint smell of citrus and spice tickled his nose. “So, do I.”

The arms around him tightened just a little.

“I know.” The melancholy admission was as quiet as a sigh. “I just don’t like it.”

McCoy’s breath was warm on his neck. He reached for the arms circling his waist and lightly gripped them.

“Is it always going to be this way, Bones?” he asked, wondering if they were ever going to find their balance. Their roles put them at odds with each other. Like two magnets of identical poles being pushed together, the essential needs of their respective positions forced the other away, repelling the intruding energy.

“I don’t know,” McCoy said, at length. “I’m trying, Jim.”

“Me, too.” He shifted, turning his head to meet McCoy’s eyes. He wanted to say more, explain himself, offer insights and reassurances, and… what? A plea for forgiveness? An apology?

Before he could say anything more, Bones leaned in – slowly, giving him a chance to pull away, and kissed him, his lips gentle and warm.

But he didn’t want to pull away. He relaxed, letting his weight rest against Bones, inviting more without words. Bones deepened the kiss, coaxing a hum of pleasure from Jim that coated his pain in honey, so that when Bones finally lifted his head, Jim still tasted him.

“I can hear that genius brain of yours chasing its tail. You think too much, Jim. Or not enough, depending.” McCoy said, an indulgent note in his voice. He took a short step back, his hands still resting on Jim’s hips. “Feel like a walk to the mess?”

The generous offer to get out of his quarters gave him hope that maybe they could find that balance after all. Bones had to know that his back was hurting from standing too long at the window. The doctor’s hands were too sensitive not feel the small tremors of fatigue that wracked his body, or the way he kept shifting his weight to keep from collapsing.

He leaned in a little more. Exhaustion ignited a fine trembling in his legs. “I’m beat, and my back is killing me. How about we eat here, instead?”

A lazy smile teased a corner of Bones’ mouth upward. “Whatever you want, kid.”

Later, when Jim was settled on the sofa with a soft pillow tucked behind his back and his feet propped up, Yeoman Rand arrived with two trays. McCoy took them at the door and thanked her with a nod before setting them down on the coffee table.

Jim looked at the covered containers. “Uh… Bones, I don’t suppose –”

McCoy uncovered a small container and pushed it forward without comment.

Jim looked at the red gelatin and smiled.

THE END


End file.
